


the light of all lights

by limehoneytea



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: ! - Freeform, (the songs are only referenced you don't need to know them), Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Christmas Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Daphne is Mama Bear™, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Getting Together, Holding Hands, I love them to death, Just another Christmas fake dating au, M/M, Meet the Family, Mistletoe, Mutual Pining, Pancakes, Regrets, SLIGHT wayward son spoilers, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow, Song: Bad Guy (Billie Eilish), Song: Dinner and Diatribes (Hozier), Sour Cherry Scones (Simon Snow), Title from Dracula (1897) by Bram Stoker, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21924460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/limehoneytea/pseuds/limehoneytea
Summary: He feels everything he's felt over the years all at once. Simon Snow looks up from where he’s learning a complicated handshake from Baz’s little brother, and the feeling envelops Baz tightly, tight enough that it almost would be uncomfortable if it was for anyone but Simon Snow, the personification of warmth and light.Simon Snow, the light of all lights.(ex-roommates Baz Pitch and Simon Snow meet years after parting ways, both alone on Christmas Eve)(Fake Dating + Road Trip AU)
Relationships: Daphne Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Mordelia Grimm & Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Penelope Bunce/Shepard, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 25
Kudos: 174





	1. the things we did not become

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a Christmas rom-com sort of thing but I didn't have an idea for it until December 23 and so these few days are gonna be chaos but I'll try my best to have this whole fic done by the 26th!
> 
> (The title is from ‘Dracula’ (1897) by Bram Stoker, I just thought it was funny because vampires ya know? the context here isn’t the same as in the book, but the words sort of fit and I like it !)

_“How do we forgive ourselves for all of the things we did not become?”_

\- Doc Luben

  
  


There’s something familiar about the man across the bar. 

He’s sitting on one of the tables, one hand pressed to his brow bone and the other nursing a glass of scotch. Simon can’t quite see him through the dim purple lights of the bar but he knows there’s something about the soft dark waves framing the man’s face and the long slender fingers tapping rhythmically on the glass that urges Simon to go over to him.

He moves to get closer just as the man gets up to his feet, swaying slightly. He’s had quite a lot to drink, Simon notes and feels glad that he himself elected to not start getting to the alcoholic drinks till 8 PM. The man takes another step towards the bar area, most likely to get himself another drink, but tumbles half-way, falling right into Simon’s arms. 

A blush creeps up both of their cheeks. Simon hasn’t been close to anyone like this since Agatha left for California without even saying goodbye, and it isn’t til now that Simon realizes that he misses this. Misses having someone to hold, having warmth radiate from his body to somebody else’s. The man’s body is unnaturally cold and Simon finds comfort in the notion that his presence gets to warm him up. 

The man blushes because he’s drunk and he’s already a bit flushed anyway, but also because there’s something very, very familiar about how Simon smells that makes his cheeks heat up without his knowledge. Their eyes meet and the lightbulb clicks on in his head. “Snow?” he asks incredulously, his words clear despite his blood’s alcohol content. 

Simon squints stepping to the side to bring them to a brighter area so he can look at his face clearly. He recognizes the voice though it’s deeper than he remembers but it still takes a moment for his brain to catch up. 

“Baz?” he squints some more, shifting his grip as Baz moves to rest his head against Simon’s shoulder. He’s a few inches taller than Simon is but that doesn’t stop him. “What are you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve, you should be with your family,” Simon tries, frowning as Baz chuckles dryly into his shoulder.

“Fuck, I need another drink,” he mutters, moving off of Simon with another chuckle. Simon keeps his grip, strong but not harsh, and shakes his head. 

“You’ve already had too much,” he says, trying hard to be stern. Baz only pouts and crashes his head onto Simon’s shoulder once more, mumbling petulant complaints into the fabric. The Baz he used to know, the one from school, would have probably pushed him away and gotten what he wanted. But this Baz, this softer version of him, doesn’t. Simon is surprised, but then he thinks about how all his other school friends changed over the years and figures that he should have expected something like this. 

But still, never had he thought that he would have Baz Pitch, king of the football field, rich boy extraordinaire, second in all of his classes (Penelope beat him out), and his terrible roommate whining, “Snow, I’m just tipsy,” while resting comfortably in Simon’s arms. 

Simon feels a smile tug at his lips. He looks down onto Baz’s head for the first time in his life (he’s always been taller than Simon, the bastard) and begins to maneuver them towards one of the tables to the back of the bar so they can be more comfortable and have more light. 

He isn’t looking behind him, just blindly walking as he tries to make sure his arms around Baz don’t loosen, so it’s only a matter of time before the two bump into someone else.

It’s a man with tawny hair and blue eyes, almost like Simon. Of course, he’s a bit shorter, and slightly more lanky, and his eyes are a darker shade of blue, but still, Simon feels like he’s staring at a distorted sort of reflection, a mirror from another world. 

He is quick to stutter out an apology but the vibrations crawling up his chest makes Baz lift his head and blink up to the light. “Stop talking, Snow,” he mumbles with a pout, but freezes in an instant as he spots who Simon is talking to. 

The man’s eyes widen. “Baz?” he asks, and Baz blanches. He pulls away from Simon who misses the touch but returns to be at his side, intertwining their fingers. Simon smiles. 

Baz turns to Simon, trying to stay composed despite his drunkenness. “Simon, can we leave, please?” he asks softly, squeezing his hand. 

The faux-Simon smiles in a vicious sort of way actual Simon could never have brought himself to smile. “So, _this_ is Simon Snow...” he tilts his head in a way that makes it seem like he’s sizing up his prey, his previous shock seeming to have dissipated. “Seems like you have a type too, huh Basil?”

Baz grits his teeth, and squeezes Simon’s hand harder. Their eyes meet and Simon nods, pulling Baz away past faux-Simon, shoving him harsher than probably appropriate and escaping to the streets. 

Their hands are still clasped together as they look around, the streets of Manchester lit up by the active nightlife of the younger people of the city. The streetlights are shining, and as Simon watches Baz washed in a soft orange glow, he smiles softly. “We don’t have to talk about it,” he says slowly, squeezing Baz’s hand, half to reassure him, and half to ensure that their hands stay together just like that.

Baz shakes his head, the scotch having loosened his tongue. “It’s alright, Snow,” he says in an almost whisper, dodging a giggling group of uni students. “He was my ex-boyfriend,” he mutters bitterly.

Simon has never been good with words so instead of speaking, he knocks their shoulders together gently. Baz smiles genuinely for a split second before it turns sour. “Bastard cheated on me with a guy who looked almost exactly like me.”

“Oh,” drawled Simon, going over the memory of his words once more. He knocks their shoulders together again and keeps them there this time, their intertwined hands pressed between their bodies. 

“That’s why I’m not with my family for Christmas,” he says slowly, the soft orange glow that washed him fading away as they move through a quieter street. “If I show up without him, my father will find some way to twist it into a commentary about my life choices and career path.”

He’s speaking animatedly now, waving his free hand in the air and trying to portray the sheer incredulity of the situation. Simon smiles softly. He seems to be doing that around this Baz a lot. The Baz from school had never gotten the same treatment. “What do you do?” he asks gently, ignoring the pleasant little knot that tightens in the pit of his stomach as Baz’s eyes light up. 

“I’m working on my PhD for English Literature right now,” he says, excitement evident in his voice. It stays for a second before he returns to his original mocking tone. “Father laments about how I’m not doing something _respectable_ like finance or business every chance he gets. I didn’t particularly fancy seeing him but I’d have quite liked to see my siblings and stepmother.”

Simon nods, rushing to change the subject because Baz’s face has taken a sad pouty turn and poor Simon isn’t sure his heart can take much more of it without dissolving into a pile of goo. “I usually spend Christmas with Penny and her family,” he begins, trying to match Baz’s energy, “but being with her family without her there would just be a bit weird and she’s in America with her boyfriend right now.”

Baz nods thoughtfully, humming as he thinks. “Yeah, her American bloke,” he begins, wracking his brain for the name. “Micah, was it?”

Simon shakes his head, chuckling as his eyes drop to the floor. “Oh no, not Micah,” he begins, meeting Baz’s eyes for a split second before looking away. “He was a bit of a dick. She’s with a guy named Shepard now. Penny and I met him during our road trip through America.”

“Road trip?” Baz asks, quirking up a singular eyebrow in a way Simon was never able to. He looks adorable like this, his cheeks all flushed and his eyes wide and curious. Simon is filled with the overwhelming urge to press a kiss to his cheeks, or to his eyelids, or to his lips.

Instead, he nods in an exaggerated fashion and swings their intertwined arms between them. “Yeah, when I was twenty and depressed, Penny thought it would cheer me up. Long story short, the car we rented stopped working properly and we hitchhiked with Shep.”

A wild sort of smile takes over Baz’s face.“You two hitchhiked through America?” he asks and before Simon can respond, he bursts into a fit of laughter and the warm knot in Simon’s stomach tightens. 

He looks beautiful like this, angelic even, and Simon is angry at his younger self for daring to have any other emotion towards this beautiful being but adoration. “I was going to say that that was a stupid decision but I should have expected that sort of thing from you two,” he says, still reeling from his laughing fit, little giggles escaping his mouth.

Simon wants to kiss him again and he wishes he had when he was younger and had more confidence than he does now. He smiles at Baz, softly, adoringly, cheeks getting redder by the second. Then, an idea sparks in his head. “Would your family recognize him? Your ex-dickhead?”

Baz laughs at the nickname but shakes his head. “No, they never met. I don’t think they even knew his name. Why?”

Simon takes a deep breath debating in his head whether this is a terrible idea or not. “I could,” he pauses thinking it through again before deciding _fuck it_ and going on, “uh, fill in?” 

Baz’s laughter quiets down and then picks up again, flowing melodically like a song. “You want to,” he pauses, squinting his eyes, “pretend to be my boyfriend?”

Simon’s eyes widen. “Only if you’re up for it!” he assures, moving his free hand animatedly. “I thought this way, you could prove your father wrong and see your siblings and stepmum at the same time.”

Baz blinks, nodding as he processes the idea. “Snow, are you sure?”

Simon nods once, twice, three times, wiping his free hand on the leg of his trousers. “I mean, I have nothing else to do over Christmas, it could be fun,” he lets out a nervous little laugh, and Baz is suddenly fifteen again, finding every little thing Simon Snow does absolutely endearing. “And besides, I’ll probably get free food,” he adds nervously.

Baz laughs slightly, thinking it over. He knows that he probably will regret it later, but he also knows that this isn’t something that’s likely to happen again. His slightly drunken state gives him the final push. “Alright,” he nods, squeezing Simon’s hand.

Simon grins, and Baz wants to kiss him. 

“We need to leave in a few hours if we want to make it there by the morning. My flat’s nearby, we’ll take my car,” he says instead, tugging Simon into a street to the side. 

“I’m driving!” he chirps, and Baz grins.


	2. tainted glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s 2 in the morning and Baz Pitch has never felt more alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit out london and put manchester in the first chapter because london is waay closer to hampshire than I thought? Can you tell I’m american?? ANYWAY to work out the timing of everything: Manchester to Hampshire is like 4 hours-ish to drive + one hour for the stop they make in the middle SO if they leave manchester by like 10:30 – 11 PM (Simon remarks its before 8 in the 1st chapter so that gives them 2.5–3 hrs to pack, mentally prepare and get snacks) they’ll get to hampshire by like 4 in the morning and then they have to get thru christmas on like 3–4 hours of sleep :D 
> 
> ALSO: Some of the names mentioned (ex: the names of all of Baz’s sibs and not just mordelia) are completely made up! thanks!

_ “It takes great courage to see the world in all its tainted glory, and still to love it.” _

\- Oscar Wilde 

It’s 2 in the morning and Baz Pitch has never felt more  _ alive _ . 

He has his Spotify playlist hooked up to the car to make Hozier’s smooth vocals drift through the air. Simon is at the wheel and every once in awhile, Baz tosses a cheese puff to him to see if he can catch it in his mouth (he rarely does, but it’s hilarious every time). 

It’s all very silly and Baz knows that the version of him from school would never approve. But, the way Simon Snow grins at him every time he does it makes up for it all. He would do anything to make Simon Snow smile like that. 

The wind is blowing his hair to the side and no doubt messing it up but Simon Snow is giggling, Hozier is singing about his dinner and diatribes, and Baz can’t remember a time when he was happier. “Baz!” Simon calls breaking him out of his head. 

Baz hums in response, turning his head to meet his eyes. Simon taps on his phone screen from where Google Maps is leading them to Hampshire and points to a little dot on the road. “There’s a twenty-four-hour restaurant over there,” he says, his eyes lighting up. 

“I don’t know, Snow,” he sighs hesitantly, watching as the light in Simon’s eyes dim and immediately filling with the want to take it back. “The sooner we get there, the more sleep we get. No matter what Daphne tells her, Mordelia will be by to wake us up by eight at the latest,” he points out. 

“Come on, I bet they sell coffee,” Simon tries, “you can sober up!” He pouts in an adorable way and all Baz wants to do is kiss the pout off his face.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he rolls his eyes and mutters, “I am sober,” petulantly, before pretending to give it a lot of thought (keyword being  _ pretending _ because Baz was sold the moment Simon started pouting) and eventually agreeing. 

They pull up to the small parking lot of the restaurant, Simon parking more efficiently than Baz probably would have (Baz can drive, just, not that well). They spot another car in the lot, a red pickup truck that looks like it belongs to either a serial killer or a farmer, and their hands find each other without much thought.

Baz likes holding Simon’s hand. His fingers are shorter than he’s used to, and smoother than he had expected but they’re so very warm and comfortable that intertwining their hands together feels like coming home. 

The restaurant is a small shack type of structure, illuminated by a soft golden light. There was a full sign hanging in the front at one point, Baz guesses, but he can’t be sure when, and it’s almost impossible to read the remaining letters in order to decipher what it used to say. Simon absolutely loves it.

He tugs Baz inside, trying to push open a door he’s meant to pull and then blinking sheepishly as Baz pulls it for him. “Thank you, kind sir,” he jokes as he steps through the door, unable to get too far with Baz’s hand wrapped tightly in his. 

They step to the till and an old woman greets them with a grin. She introduces herself as Heidi and takes their orders. Baz orders just a coffee and takes it darker than he’s ever had it and with more sugar than probably healthy, while Simon decides to satisfy his 2 AM craving of pancakes and scones (“Baz, they have sour cherry scones! I haven’t seen those since Watford!”).

Heidi writes it all down and offers them a smile as they pick a table. Simon rests his head on his palm, missing the hand that was wrapped around it, and turns his eyes to meet Baz’s form. Baz is bent over his phone, typing out a text message.

When his eyes meet Simon’s curious gaze, he smiles gently, moving to explain. “It’s my stepmother. She was just checking to see if I was on my way,” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I skipped out on them last Christmas, so she wanted to make sure.”

“Why’s she awake this late?” Simon asks, his head tilting curiously.

“The twins were determined to stay up til midnight and she likes to have 2 hours to herself after they fall asleep so she doesn’t go stir-crazy,” he chuckles, a genuine smile crossing his face as he thinks about his family.

Simon smiles. He isn’t sure he’s ever seen Baz smile like this, regarding his family or not, and can’t help but think about the ever-scowling Baz from school. He was hot back then, Simon thinks, but now, he’s adorable, attractive in a softer, gentler sort of way.

Baz meets Simon’s eyes and Simon can tell he’s hesitating to ask something. He smiles slowly and lifts his phone screen up to face Simon. “Do you mind if I take a photo of you? She just realized she doesn’t know what ‘my boy,’” he rolls his eyes and does air quotes with his hands, “looks like.”

Simon laughs when Baz lifts his phone but ducks away. “Come over here, we’re taking a selfie!” he cheers with all the enthusiasm of a child who’s had too much sugar. 

Baz wants to protest but Simon is pouting again and he’s weak. He sighs in a show of false exasperation and gets up to his feet. A burst of courage encourages him to walk behind Simon and prop his head up on Simon’s shoulder, who, instead of shaking it off, only leans his head against Baz’s and grins.

Their food arrives and Simon moans around a piece of his pancakes, making Baz’s mind travel to places it has no business traveling. 

Taking a deep breath, Baz sends the photo off to Daphne who only replies with heart eyes emojis. It’s only after Baz sends her a singular rolling eyes emoji that she wishes him goodnight and tells him to text her when they get there. Baz pockets his phone and moves back to his seat, taking a sip of his coffee and meeting Simon’s eyes. 

Simon smiles. “Tell me about her,” he urges, his voice gentle.

“Daphne? She’s sweet, too sweet for someone like my father. She and my siblings make the holidays bearable,” he says with a bitter smile.

Simon moves to rest his head on his palm again, propping himself up on his elbow and taking a bite of his pancakes with his free hand. “And the rest of your family?” 

Baz lets out a distracted little hum, moving to mirror Simon’s position as he speaks. “Well, there’s Father. He likes to think he’s a posh businessman even though he comes from a line of farmers,” he remarks dryly.

Simon seems to find that the funniest thing in the world. He laughs, and he laughs and though Baz quirks one eyebrow at him, he continues to laugh. His laughter is all light and warmth and Baz decides he would sell his soul to keep Simon Snow laughing just like that.

His laughs slowly fade out but little giggles still escape his mouth as he says, “Sorry I just imagined you as a farmer,” making Baz roll his eyes and Simon laugh even harder.

“Snow, oh my god,” Baz deadpans, smiling despite the tone of his voice.

Simon brings up a hand to his mouth to try to stifle his giggles but fails. He removed his hand to ask, “Would you wear little dungarees?” and collapsing into a fit of laughter. “Ooh, maybe a bucket hat!” he exclaims flailing his hands about. 

Baz takes a sip of his coffee which still manages to be slightly bitter despite how much sugar it contains. “Thank god I have no intention of being like the Grimms. I want to be like the Pitches, though. Like my mother,” he says, his words taking a proud but fond and admiring turn. 

Simon’s giggles subside but he still keeps a wide smile on his face as he turns to buttering his scones. “Hmm? She was a teacher, right? Headmistress Pitch?”

“Yeah, she came from a long line of them too. But a lot of her family was made of bankers and business-people as well, and I’m pretty sure my father got too much of a taste of that life in the seven or so years he was married to my mother.”

Simon smiles gently, tearing a piece of his scone and offering it to Baz, who takes it hesitantly. “I know my opinion is unnecessary,” he starts, “but I think you’d suit being a teacher very well.”

A soft feeling envelops Baz and he smiles, taking a bite out of the piece of Simon’s scone he has and feeling it dissolve in his mouth. “Thank you, Snow,” he almost whispers and Simon’s cheeks heat up at the gentleness of his tone.

He wants to kiss him. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just takes a bite of his scones and urges Baz to continue. “Tell me about your siblings then.”

“There’s Mordelia, she’s thirteen, the oldest. Still eleven years younger than me, mind you, but I’m closer to her than the others, mostly because I’ve just known her for longer,” he says and Simon hums, both to let him know that he’s listening and to tell him to continue on. 

“And there’s the twins, Juliet and Ophelia, and the youngest, Alexander. They’re all great, I love them all, but I just don’t know them as well as I do Mordelia.”

A silence settles over them but it’s of the comfortable sort and Baz can’t remember a time he’s felt it. They’re there, across from each other in an old, broken down restaurant eating breakfast foods and drinking coffee stronger than they’ve ever drank at 2 in the morning. It’s nothing special, not really if you think about it, but they look at each other like it is and that’s all that truly matters.

Baz wants the silence to stay the way it is but he can’t help but break it. “Thank you for doing this,” he pauses, taking a moment before he hesitantly says, “Simon,” in a tone much quieter than the rest of his sentence. 

“Hey, it’s not a problem,” Simon says, “I told you I had nothing else to do.”

Baz nods, smiling somewhat mischievously. “I can’t wait to see my father’s face when he sees you,” he murmurs, “He was convinced I was lying, he’s going to be so upset.” He pauses, meeting Simon’s eyes for a second. “He might hate you though, I’m sorry.”

Simon hums, licking his lips. “You say that now but I bet he’ll love me.” 

Baz laughs, muttering a quiet, “sure,” under his breath.

Simon huffs, seeming offended, before breaking into song. It’s a pop song Baz’s been hearing on the radio a lot and though he quite likes how it sounds, he’ll never admit it. “Might seduce your dad type,” Simon sings and Baz laughs throwing the piece of scone Simon gave him at his face.

“Snow!” he exclaims as Simon laughs. All is well.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Daphne Grimm watches her eldest son exit the car with a man next to him, each of the two picking up their bags with one hand and intertwining the other together. She’s currently running on 2 hours of sleep but her head is perfectly clear as she watches the two approach her. Baz sets his bag down and moves to hug her, blushing as she whispers, “nice job with this one,” in his ear. 

The other man approaches her. He’s smiling politely but she can see the tiredness in his blue eyes. “Simon Snow, ma’am,” he introduces with an extended hand and Daphne shakes it, offering her greeting and welcome. The name sounds very familiar but she doesn’t really have enough energy to place where she knows it from and sets it aside as something to ask Baz later. 

She turns to him. “I set up your old room for the two of you,” she says and Baz nods, offering her a genuinely happy smile. She hasn’t seen him in months, sure, but she doesn’t remember a time when Baz smiled like that.

Daphne watches the two make their way up the stairs, their fingers intertwined tightly, and her heart warms at the thought of her eldest son finally finding happiness. 


	3. the light of all lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He feels everything he's felt over the years all at once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide whether I love or hate this chapter so you all will have to make my decision for me. 
> 
> None of this is pre-planned and I'm just writing as I go so if you all find any continuity errors, just let me know :)
> 
> (same goes for grammar, I proofread it once and ran it through Grammarly but mistakes are bound to escape so if y'all find any too egregious, just let me know and I'll do my best to fix it !)

_“There are darknesses in life_

_and there are lights,_

_and you are one of the lights,_

_the light of all lights.”_

Bram Stoker ( _Dracula_ , 1897)

Baz Pitch wakes up with an arm around Simon Snow’s waist, Simon’s hand resting on his and his face nestled in Baz’s neck. 

It’s heaven on Earth.

Both of them were too tired the night before to have any inhibitions about sharing a bed or sleeping close to each other and Baz is so, _so_ glad for it. He still doesn’t know if this is alright though, them being this close, but when he goes to move away, Simon holds in hand tighter and burrows deeper into his neck. “Don’t leave,” he mumbles sleepily, lips brushing Baz’s jaw as he speaks.

A blush creeps up Baz’s neck but he stays still, holding Simon tighter. The morning’s first light is floating in through the window, showering the pair of them in a golden glow. He sighs with the feeling of contentment as Simon twists to throw an arm over his shoulder and closes his eyes, willing his body to fall asleep once more.

The next time Baz Pitch wakes up, he’s surrounded by noise and has a tiny finger poking his cheek. He opens his eyes to the big brown ones of his youngest brother, six-year-old Alexander, who makes up for his lack of verbose by poking and prodding anything he gets his tiny little hands on. Simon’s head is still nestled under his chin and he lets out a groan of complaint when Baz moves his head to face his brother.

Baz smiles softly, propping himself up on the headboard and ruffling Xander’s hair with the hand not holding Simon’s. That’s when he spots the rest of his siblings crowded around his bed and his stepmother lingering by the door. He gestures for her to come fully inside and she offers him a sheepish smile. “Sorry Baz,” she says, apologetically, “I tried to stop them.”

Juliet and Ophelia bound into his outstretched arm, each pressing a kiss to their big brother’s cheek. The pair really are adorable, looking younger than the ten years of age they actually are. “I’m okay,” he tells Daphne, looking down at Simon fondly, “he did all the driving though, he might need an hour more.” 

“I only drove ‘cause you were drunk,” Simon mumbles, propping himself up on his elbows to survey the room, “I’ll be alright.” He looks rumpled and drowsy and his hair sits in a messy mop atop his head, a few strands falling to his forehead. When he stretches his neck to get a good look at the other people in the room, a few moles are visible.

“I wasn’t drunk, Snow, I was tipsy,” Baz replies instead of kissing Simon’s moles like he so wants to, hugging Mordelia to give himself something to do with his hands. “There’s a difference.”

“Yes, of course, tipsy,” he looks to Daphne and smiles secretly, “on scotch.” Daphne chuckles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and meeting Baz’s eyes with a teasingly questioning look.

Xander makes his way to Simon’s side and pokes his arm, making him smile down at the messy head of light brown curls. “Hi there,” he greets extended a hand for him to shake. “You must be Alexander. I’m Simon,” he introduces. Xander, who looks very dignified to have been offered a handshake, enthusiastically shakes his hand.

Ophelia follows after her younger brother and faces Simon, observing him for a moment before speaking. “You’re Baz’s boyfriend,” she says suspiciously, her large eyes squinted. She’s always been a bit rough around the edges and despite being smaller and more soft-spoken than her twin, Ophelia has a protective edge to her none of her siblings have.

Simon doesn’t seem to be fazed though. He just smiles and nods. “That I am,” he says, “and you must be,” he pauses for a second, “Ophelia?”

Baz knows that Simon only made a wild guess and accidentally got it correct, but Ophelia doesn’t. She grins, suspicion replaced by elation at the fact that someone finally got her name correct on the first try. Simon meets Baz’s eyes and winks as Baz shakes his head with false disdain in response. 

“So that makes you,” he looks to the remaining two sisters and gestures, “Juliet, and Mordelia,” he decides, meeting Baz’s eyes again as he’s met with two identical smiles. 

“Snow, they already like you more than they like me,” Baz murmurs, looking around to his siblings. He notices the distinct lack of any protests coming from his siblings and scowls at Simon who only responds with an angelic smile.

Mordelia frowns. “Snow?”

“It’s my last name,” Simon answers with a smile. 

Juliet’s eyes widen. “You’re like a fairy tale prince!” she says like it's a revelation, like it’s fact and Baz can’t help but think that she’s right. Simon Snow is a fairy tale prince, complete with his knack for heroism, tantalizing charm, and dashing good looks. 

Baz clutches their joined hands to his heart, smiling even while he glares at Juliet. “Get your own!” he exclaims and Juliet dissolves into a fit of giggles, dragging Mordelia along with her. 

Daphne watches her children and smiles, taking Xander’s hand and gathering her girls around her. “Get dressed and come down for breakfast,” she says gently, her eyes set on Baz and Simon’s joined hands. “Don’t get too distracted,” she winks and herds her children out of the room as the pair turn bright red.

As Daphne closes the door behind her, Simon turns to Baz with a smile. “Get your own, hmm?” he teases, making Baz blush at the words. 

It almost feels real. Almost feels like they’re in love and like spending Christmases with Baz’s family is the norm. “You’re good at this,” Simon says while getting up, “pretending to be in love with me.”

But, Baz realizes, it isn’t real. He doesn’t get to love Simon Snow, kiss him and cherish him the way he wants to. He smiles (a fake and stunted one that if Simon notices, he doesn’t comment on) as Simon disappears into the bathroom. 

Baz looks around the room, and sighs, pulling himself out of his bed, away from the scent of Simon Snow lingering on his sheets.

* * *

  
  


“I change my mind,” Simon mutters lowly into Baz’s ear as he spots Mr. Grimm’s scowl. “I don’t wanna seduce him.”

Malcolm Grimm is greeted by his son’s laughter as Baz walks into breakfast, realizing with a shocked start that he can’t remember the last time his son truly laughed, and feels the twisting feeling of guilt brewing in the pit of his stomach grow. 

He looks up to see the man responsible for making his son laugh like this and pauses. He recognizes him, but it can’t be, he thinks. Baz hated him as a teenager so why all of a sudden… “Simon Snow?” 

The reaction is instant. Baz’s laughter abruptly stops as his eyes train onto his father and he gives him a glare than would make many crumble. Daphne is the one to diffuse the situation, like she usually is when it comes to father and son. “Ohhh,” she drawls, “from Watford, right? I thought I recognized the name.”

Simon avoids Malcolm’s eyes and meets Daphne’s instead, offering her a polite smile. “Yes, ma’am, we were roommates.”

(“Oh my god, they were roommates,” Mordelia murmurs under her breath and gets mostly ignored, except by Simon who winks at her to make her giggle.)

Baz grasps Simon’s hand and tugs him down to a chair right across from Malcolm, the glare never leaving his face. 

Malcolm Grimm has never been fond of Simon Snow, he’s made that much clear. He was Davy Mage’s pet project, he didn’t deserve to be at Watford like the others who had to earn their place. He repeats that notion, over and over in his head like a mantra, hoping that it will be enough to drown out the feeling of watching the pure joy radiating from his son’s face for the first time in what feels like forever, and Simon Snow being the reason for it.

(It isn’t enough.) 

Breakfast is awkward at best and Baz is glad when it’s over. Almost half an hour of watching Daphne try to medicate the situation between him and his father while Simon takes whatever look or comment Malcolm throws as him with more grace than Baz could’ve summoned is almost unbearable.

Simon makes it bearable. Simon with his nervous giggles, and warm hands. Simon with his reassuring looks and comforting smiles. Simon Snow’s presence beside him, all solid and radiating light and warmth, makes Baz feel like he could conquer the world if Simon stayed by his side.

Baz comes to the startling realization that he wants Simon Snow to _stay_ by his side. Not as pretend, not only for the few days they’re at Hampshire. He wants to be with Simon Snow as long the world will let him, and maybe even longer.

He felt something similar, years ago, when he was freshly fifteen and discovering his sexuality. He wanted Simon Snow then, his arms wrapped around Baz’s waists, hovering over him, leaving open-mouthed kisses on his neck.

He felt something similar at sixteen when he watched Simon Snow scrunch up his nose and try to do homework and get dressed up for dates with Agatha, at seventeen when Simon helped him through the anniversary of his mother’s death and took care of him when he was sick, and at eighteen, feeling the dread pool up in his stomach on his last day of school thinking he would never get to see Simon Snow again.

He feels everything he's felt over the years all at once. Simon Snow looks up from where he’s learning a complicated handshake from Baz’s little brother, and the feeling envelops Baz tightly, tight enough that it almost would be uncomfortable if it was for anyone but Simon Snow, the personification of warmth and light.

_The light of all lights_.


	4. there is hope for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There, on the doorframe, hung an inconspicuous-looking sprig of mistletoe, innocently hanging and waiting for its next pair of victims. Their eyes widen as they meet, their cheeks turning bright red. Half of the room is looking right at them now and Baz can almost see Mordelia trying to muffle her snickering in her hand behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 5 is an epilogue of sorts and not really that christmas themed so I figured it was alright to post it after christmas, so that will be up on the 26th!

_ “If flowers can grow through blankets of melting snow, there is hope for me.” _

Tyler Knott Gregson

Christmas Evening brings every family member Baz remembers having, and then a lot more, to the house in Hampshire. Baz doesn’t quite remember signing up for any of this, and he reverts back to the cold, forever-scowling version of himself from school. 

He hates it. Hates feeling like an outsider in what’s supposed to be his own home, hates the look that creeps on Simon’s face when he scowls at yet another one of Daphne’s cousins. They’re all awfully chipper and Baz can’t pinpoint why he hates it so much, but he doesn’t even know some of them and it’s stifling in a way he can’t describe. 

Simon seems to fit in well, though. He grins at the younger ones and cracks jokes with the older ones and by 6 PM, he has even the most rigid of Grimm cousins swooning. 

Dev and Niall are his saving grace. They sit with him as he broods in the corner with a glass of wine, glaring at Simon surrounded by a gaggle of girls Baz vaguely recognizes as Daphne’s cousin Corinne and her uni friends. An uneasy feeling grows in his stomach. Dev laughs at him, reminiscent of their days as frankly obnoxious schoolboys, but NIall, he understands. He meets Baz’s eye and pats his shoulder comfortingly, but somehow, that makes the uneasy feeling worse.

It doesn’t truly leave him until Simon himself makes his way over to Baz, holding a glass of orange juice. Dev and Niall scurry off. Baz raises a singular eyebrow at Simon’s drink, making him roll his eyes and move to explain. “No alcohol before eight, remember?” Simon says, his voice casual despite the question it accompanied. “I have a rule.”

He clinks his glass with Baz’s and settles next to him with a smile. Baz immediately feels lighter despite the weight of the aforementioned gaggle of girls’ stares on his back. He elects to ignore them as best as possible and turns to smile at Simon (he hears Corinne gasp softly in the background), taking a sip of his wine. 

Simon swings his legs over Baz’s lap and grins. “Your cousins are a bit creepy, by the way,” he says, his fingers tapping lightly on the glass. 

“Technically, we have no blood relation,” Baz muses with a smile, “I don’t claim them.” 

Simon tilts his head, getting closer. “They’re like, scrutinizing us,” he says, looking over Baz’s shoulder.

Baz grins, “That’s a very big word Snow, did you learn it all by yourself?” He puts a hand over his heart and turns his eyes as big as they go. 

Simon turns slightly pink as he tries to stifle his smile, and nods earnestly. “I did, are you proud of me?” he asks, teasing, as Baz pats his head like he’s a child. Simon, though he’ll never admit it, quite likes the feeling of Baz’s hands in his hair (he elects to bury this thought deep inside with every other unruly thought he’s ever had about Baz).

Instead of dwelling on it, he checks his phone, the slender white letters reading: 7:55. He looks back up at Baz to find him already looking and they both turn pink when their eyes meet. “Baaz,” Simon drawls, instead of thinking about how adorable Baz looks with the pink dusting his cheeks, “will you get me a drink?” he brandishes his phone screen to show Baz the time.

Baz quirks a singular eyebrow like he’s so fond of doing and tries not to let a smile flit over his lips. “And you can’t do it because…?”

“Because you’re supposed to be my,” he trails off, “doting boyfriend?” he asks hopefully. 

Baz hides the pang in his heart at the thought that all of this is fake and will be over by the next day, with half-hearted snickers. “I’m anything but doting, Snow,” he snarks even as his hands reach over to play with the frayed strings at the seam of Simon’s pant leg.

Simon eyes the bar in the next room and then the people mingling in between. The doors have been propped open but it does nothing to make the overabundance of people feel less suffocating. He knows that though his social battery is running low, he’ll probably be okay for a little bit longer by himself. 

The thing is though, he doesn’t really want to.

He pouts. “What if we go together?”

Baz raises his eyebrow again (the  _ git.  _ Simon doesn’t know why he keeps doing that but It’s insanely attractive and he swears the room gets warmer every time Baz does it). “What’s the point in both of us going when only one of us could?” 

“Companionship?” Simon suggests, stretching out his hand. “Neither of us having to deal with your creepy cousins and your invasive aunts by ourselves?” 

Baz catches Simon’s eye and for a few seconds, his face remains perfectly neutral until he cracks a small smile and grabs Simon’s outstretched hand. “That’s a hard offer to beat,” he says and hauls both of them up to their feet, their fingers remaining intertwined.

They make their way through the room relatively unbothered, the only exception being Aunt Matilda’s weird questions (Baz isn’t completely sure which side of the family she’s from, just that she’s eccentric and comes to every family gathering), until they reach the doorway.

“Simon! Baz!” a shout echoes, the pair turning their heads to the source of the noise. They trace it back to a grinning Corinne who flips her curls behind her shoulder and winks. “Look up.”

There, on the doorframe, hung an inconspicuous-looking sprig of mistletoe, innocently hanging and waiting for its next pair of victims. Their eyes widen as they meet, their cheeks turning bright red. Half of the room is looking right at them now and Baz can almost see Mordelia trying to muffle her snickering in her hand behind him.

Baz scowls at his family. “Don’t you think you all are a bit  _ too _ interested in this?” he asks in an effort to divert some of their attention elsewhere.

“Come on Baz, it’s tradition!” Corinne chirps as Mordelia parrots her words (the traitor).

Baz meets Simon’s eyes again, questioningly, hesitantly, and Simon, though still bright red, nods. Baz takes a deep breath, preparing, when Simon grabs him by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him in for a kiss.

His lips are soft and so very warm, and Baz wants to stay like this forever. He’s vaguely aware of the noise the room’s erupted in, the cheers and hoots led by his sisters and cousins, but he can’t bring himself to care. 

Simon does something with his chin and Baz wants to drown in the feeling. Drown in Simon Snow’s soft lips and warm tongue and steady hands balled up against his chest.

But, something’s wrong. It feels so, so good but something in the back of Baz’s brain interrupts with the fact that all of this is fake. All of this will be gone tomorrow, and the only reason Simon Snow’s kissing him is to sell their story. This means nothing,  _ absolutely nothing _ and—

— Baz pushes Simon away and turns to his family, spitting, “Got your show now, have you?” 

Simon blinks, grimacing as Baz runs off. He turns to their audience, shaking his head and following after Baz, his lips still remembering how Baz’s felt on his.

He finds him in the library (the house is  _ that _ sort of posh, and Simon reminds himself to tease Baz about it later, at a better time), curled up in a little alcove. He’s laying down, his legs curled to his stomach, and he has his forearm covering his beautiful gray eyes. “Baz,” Simon whispers as he approaches, careful not to startle him. 

Baz shifts his forearm and screws his eyes shut, murmuring a quiet, “Go away, Snow,” but the comment doesn’t have much bite to it and Simon’s heart aches.

“Hey Baz, look at me,” Simon whispers, getting on his knees to be at eye level with Baz, “look at me, love.”

Baz scoffs, loudly, audibly, and flings his arm off his eyes. “No one’s here, Snow, you don’t have to pretend anymore,” he says, and Simon realizes, all too late, that Baz is crying. 

He flips on his side, his stormy eyes meeting Simon’s. He looks vulnerable, weakened, like life has beat every joyful strand out of him and he has nothing but sorrow in his heart.

Simon’s heart lurches and for reasons unknown, even to himself, he moves forward to place a kiss on each of Baz’s cheeks, moving to intertwine their hands together. Baz sits up, sniffling as he does. “I don’t deserve this, Sno– Simon, you’re only doing this out of… obligation or guilt or because you’re just bored– it’s probably because you’re bored or—”

He’s silenced by two more kisses, one gently placed to each of his eyelids. His eyes flutter shut as he lowers his head. Simon smiles, placing a kiss to his nose and Baz makes a little noise that could have resembled a laugh if Simon strained his ears enough.

Baz is about to say something when someone awkwardly clearing their throat interrupts him. The two of them turn abruptly to face a red-faced Corinne, who’s darting her eyes around the room to anywhere but them. “You two are so fucking adorable and I’m really sorry for interrupting,” she says, fiddling with the seams of her sweater, “but um… I wanted to apologize if I made either of you uh– uncomfortable.”

Baz is still a bit red in the face and tears are still drying on his cheeks but he smirks cockily and tilts his head. He looks as smug as ever and Simon loves him for it. “Daphne made you say that, didn’t she?” He asks, his smirk widening as Corinne turns redder.

“She can be really fucking scary when she goes into her  _ Mum Mode, _ ” she murmurs like it physically pains her to admit that she’s afraid of someone who’s practically the personification of a smiley face. “But I mean it, and yeah,” she points towards the door hesitantly, “I’m gonna go. I’ll, uh, make sure no one bothers you.”

She’s gone before either of them can blink and Simon is not-so-secretly glad for it. He turns back to Baz, hands finding surprisingly muscled shoulders, and leans closer, so their lips are almost touching but not quite. Baz has a light in his eyes Simon’s not sure he’s ever seen but he’s still holding back, still hesitating.

“I don’t know if I’m reading the situation right,” Baz says slowly, blinking as Simon leans against his shoulder and dissolves into a fit of laughter, the sound as angelic and melodic as ever. “Snow, are you alright?” he asks after a while and squints at the messy tawny curls fanning around his shoulder as the laughter continues.

When Simon finally reels himself in enough to speak, he blurts, “Baz, I kissed you five times, six if you count the mistletoe, I’m pretty sure you’re reading this right,” he says, his slowly decreasing laughs increasing again when Baz replies.

“Yes, but were they platonic kisses, or…” he trails off as Simon clutches his shoulder and laughs again, chortling some variation of  _ NO _ through his laughter with varying degrees of success.

“Snow, I really think you should shut up,” Baz says after a while, his slender fingers threading through Simon’s hair, earning him a pleased shudder, but not silence.

Simon tilts his head and considers Baz’s remark, and for a second it looks like he’s about to lean in for a kiss. He does lean in but instead of placing a soft kiss to Baz’s lips, he smirks and asks, “Am I supposed to say ‘make me’?” 

Baz wants to back him up against the nearest wall and kiss him till morning but he’s still reeling from their confessions of sorts and if Simon wants to drag this out, then drag it out he shall. “Yes, that’s usually how these things go,” he murmurs in a low voice and feels Simon shudder again at the tone.

He thinks, it’s going to happen now, Simon is going to kiss him, but instead, Simon pulls away just a bit and pouts, his fingers creeping up the back of Baz’s neck. “Aw Baz you had me thinking I was special,” he whines, winding his arms around Baz’s neck and moving to straddle him as he sits in his lap.

Baz gulps, both from the action and the words. He delicately sets his hands on Simon’s hips and whispers, “Snow, you are,” with so much emotion Simon wants to break right then and there, and kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he leans closer to Baz, stretching his neck because he’s caught Baz looking at his moles there a few times and hadn't really thought it very significant until now. “I bet you say that to all the boys,” he says, because it’s fun, teasing him like this, now that he’s sure of the feelings they share. 

“Snow,” he says, his voice cracking in the middle and the whole word coming out a bit strangled and very un-Baz-like. Simon breaks, laughing again while resting comfortably in Baz’s lap and despite how it almost hurts, how much he wants to kiss Snow, Baz thinks that  _ this _ is what heaven must be like.

Simon shakes his head, clapping his hands over Baz’s shoulder. “Sorry, say it again,” he demands and really, it shouldn’t be as hot as Baz finds it.

“What?” He mumbles because he’s a bit distracted by the fact that Simon Snow is _ sitting in his lap  _ and  _ demanding things from him _ , and for a second feels like the roles have reversed and like Simon is the eloquent one while he’s the one that trips over his words. 

Simon smiles kindly and leans closer. “Say your line again so I can respond adequately,” he says and Baz sighs in a show of false exasperation as the  _ contents _ of what Simon’s demanding registers in his brain.

“Are we really doing this?” he asks wearily and knows that there’s really not much of a point in trying to protest. Baz would do anything Simon Snow asks of him.

Simon grins and nods enthusiastically, threading his fingers through Baz’s hair, just because he feels like it, and just because he can. “Yes, say your line!” he urges, and smirks as Baz rolls his eyes.

“Snow,” he says, pitching his voice to the same low tone as what made Simon react before and digging his hands into the mess of tawny curls. Simon gives a full-bodied shudder as Baz says, “I really think you should shut up.”

“Make me,” he murmurs, their lips finally touching in a tender kiss.


	5. death will tremble to take us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> until the very end

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't meant to be the shortest chapter but adding anything else to it just feels wrong so here it is :D !

_ “We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that death will tremble to take us” _

-Charles Bukowski

“Holding your hand feels like coming home,” says Baz. There are tears in his eyes and a nervous shake to his hands. 

Seventeen year old Mordelia grins, eyeing her stoic father discreetly trying to wipe a tear from his cheek.

“Which is… incredibly sappy and something I never thought I would say in front of,” he looks around, to his siblings, his parents, his weird cousins, strange uncles, and nosy aunts, and smiles, “my entire family, but, I guess they’ve earned it, haven’t they?”

He takes a deep breath. “I remember being fifteen and seeing you kiss Agatha Wellbelove out in the lawn and not understanding why, all of a sudden, I wanted to cry,” he says, his eyes finding Agatha’s in the crowd. “Thanks for that, by the way, Wellbelove, we might not be here without you.” Agatha wipes her cheeks with an embroidered handkerchief and offers a teary smile.

“I remember being eighteen,” he continues, turning his eyes back to meet the love of his life’s, “thinking I would never get to see you again, and feeling like my breath was being snatched from my lungs.” Simon smiles crookedly, his eyelashes fluttering in an effort to blink back tears. 

“And I remember being twenty-four, seeing you under the purple lights of the dingy bar that was  _ probably _ riddled with health code violations, and thinking you were a hallucination, a dream.” 

Simon’s lost his battle with his tears now and they’re freely flowing down his face. Baz reaches out to wipe them away, his touch gently sweeping under Simon’s eyes and over his cheeks. “I remember you kissing my tears away when I was upset and I remember being stupid and saying something along the lines of ‘were those platonic kisses, or…?’”

Penelope Bunce tuts through her tears and grins widely, leaning her shoulders against a chuckling Shepard. “Well they obviously weren’t,” he pauses dramatically for a few seconds before cracking a smile. “I think,” he jokes, “unless you platonically agreed to marry me too.”

The audience erupts into laughter and Simon screeches a strangled, “No!” through his own laughs.

Baz nods, the smile on his face growing. “Alright, good to know,” and takes another deep breath, continuing. “Simon Snow, I wanted you at fifteen, and at sixteen, and seventeen, and eighteen, and I didn’t think I wanted you from nineteen to twenty-four, but I did,  _ god _ I did.”

“I can’t remember a time when I knew what love meant,  _ really _ meant, and didn’t love you, and I can’t imagine a future where I don’t love you with everything I have in me. Simon Snow, I want to love you, I  _ will _ love you, through every hardship, until the very end.”

Simon’s face is splitting with a smile and sniffles echo through the crowd. “ _ Till death do us part _ , the saying goes,” says Baz. 

“Well,” there’s a pause as he surveys the room and Simon’s teary eyes, “death can try.”

The room erupts into cheers, laughter, and smiles as the officiant pronounces them  _ one _ . 

Their lips meet and it all falls away, friends, family, noise and all. It’s just them, Simon and Baz, as one, until the very end. They never thought they’d get here, never thought it would happen and as the two break their kiss, it all floods back to them and they smile wider than they ever have, their hands joined and their hearts singing. 

Baz imagines his teenage self in the crowd. Bitter sixteen year old Baz who scoffs at happy poems and writes angry ones, who only knows how to play melancholy tunes on his violin, who scowls and sneers like it’s all he can do.

Twenty-eight year old Baz holds his husband’s hand and feels light and warmth erupt in his chest. Twenty-eight year old Baz holds his husband’s hand and he smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Let me know what you thought of it? Comments are my lifeblood and I love interacting with people who read my works, and I know commenting sometimes can be a little intimidating (at least for me, I always feel awkward leaving comments) but I'd appreciate them a lot! This was sort of a spur of the moment thing and not a lot of planning went into it but I spent 4 days writing and thinking about writing this and only this so I kind of feel like I'm sending my baby out into the world haha :D
> 
> So, thanks for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed it!!


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